Hellow:) So I hope you like this chapter and please read and tell me what you think:) hmmmmmmm...-coughs- so ill cut the awkward chit chat and get to the jello

I could feel the hot desert sand under my face as flop over to try to get comfortable. The hot midnight wind scuffed against my skin as I shoved my leather jacket into a ball to use as a pillow. The sand moved in time with the wind. I lay on my stomach , missing the quick and easy embrace of sleep that I could still remember from the days before the war. Back then the breezes were cooling and filled with the tender smell of the forest's green growth. It would enchant and convince you to fall asleep to its loving tunes. Sadly, that wind was gone now and was replaced with harsh and disenchanted gusts that bludgeon you with its heat making it terrible difficult to drift off

Just as I was beginning to dose off into a sweet sleep the unwelcome tingling started to spread from the middle of my calves to my shoulders. In my mind I was dreading what would follow after. Soon the tingly numbness that was similar to a foot falling asleep subsided leaving behind only the growing spasms the stung through the splotches of scar tissue that randomly engulfed most of my back. The familiar pain started to grow even worse. I couldn't remember it ever being this bad. If I didn't know any better I would have believed that I was back in the Better Living's lab, having strange harmful liquid being poured on uncovered flesh trying to get the killjoys plans out of me. Of course when I didn't spill my 'guts' they gave up and sent me back to the revival room after passing out. The fumes had always gotten to people. I guess it was just something about inhaling the burning stench of you own skin dissolving into the air mixed with repulsive odors of the corrosive chemicals made people faint and or spill their guts in a less metaphoric way making the lab technicians scrub their shoes twice as hard. Of course no one regretted blowing chunks cause pissing them off was some of the only fun we got to enjoy.

The now raging spasms increased tremendously as my mind wondered. My nerve receptors were the only things I could think about. Everything soon went blank and all that was left was the belief that the desert was finally taking me away.

My stomach clinched at the pain making me topple out of the rigid position I was paralyzed in for the previous minutes that seemed like eternity and up chuck the nonexistent contents of my stomach. The terrifying pains started to subside little by little until it was all gone. All it left behind was the ugly taste of throw up and frightful memories.

I look over my surroundings. My leather jacket was crumpled up were my head had rested on it for the night. Looking closer, I saw bite marks indented into it from my unintended struggles of trying not to scream incase of unwelcome passer-by. Having made sure I hadn't pierced the old article of clothing I started to shake the orange sand off. I reach across the puddle made earlier to get my canteen of water, the mixed tastes of vomit and dessert sand becoming very unappetizing in my mouth. As I opened the lid my heart fell. It was empty. Living in the dessert and not having a reliable and constant source of water meant you had to ration it out over time. I had gotten good at it to a point where I could go a month without raiding a demolished building in hopes of a sip of the now valuable liquid. But of course when I needed it the most it was gone.

I would have to find a water source and soon, knowing how cruel the dry weather and land could be. I gathered up my few belongings that fit into my jacket pockets and placed my overly worn boots back on my feet, accidentally pulling off a small piece of leather. Damn it. I would have to find a new pair soon. I probably would end up taking some off a Drac that I had killed or stealing it from an unexpecting and innocent Killjoy. I would feel bad doing and all but if their stupid enough to take them off and leave them unwatched then whose fault is it really?

It was still early morning so my eyes had to adjust to the dime light. As I started trudging across the dark desert the realization that I had no clue where Dr. D was or what type of living quarters to look for crossed my mind. With a sigh, I decided to find water first before I start off on a search that could take weeks and leave me stranded someplace with no water at all. Going on guessing, I picked a direction and stuck with it.

Soon I wandered upon an abandoned dinner/gas station. From the outside it appeared unlivable. The roof had an awful slant, almost leaning to the ground. It seemed that the overhang over the gas pumps would collapse with the next acid rain which was due in a couple of days. Rarely did we ever get old fashion water rains anymore and if we did the only way of checking was by sending some poor soul out to stand in it. Of course no one ever volunteered. I carefully started to step over fallen debris and gradually arrived at the door. Thankfully it still slightly opened.

Despite the outer appearance, the inside looked very much intact...almost kept up. Suspicious. It was dark but I could still see fairly well. It was like a usual dinner, with the old fashion red pleather upholstery covering every booth and chair seat. The counter blocked off a open kitchen where people could sit and watch their meals being made. My eyes rested on an old coffee maker causing my mouth to water for the soothing liquid that had made me an addict for so long, before the war of course. I hadn't had any in years, seeing as almost everything was gone. I would have to remember to raid the cabinets later in search to find a little of the attractive makings for one cup.

First, of course, I checked for water. I stepped behind the counter and into the kitchen finding the double sinks. I turned the 'cold' foist and was relieved when the liquid dripped out. I wasn't too disappointed when I found it was warm. It was post apocalypse after all.

After filling up both of my canteens, I started to snoop around more thoroughly. The dinner looked inhabited. There were tools strewn out in every direction, dotting the tile floor. Used batteries were placed in the most random of locations, apparently just left where they were replaced. Different articles of clothing had been tossed around into unorganized piles, some not even remotely close to even make it seem related to the others. By the looks of it there were a minimum of five living here and a maximum of seven. Cans of re-fried beans, from the regulated Better Living vending machines of course, were left open on the tables were they were abandoned after being finished that night, the spoons still rested against the inside. My stomach growled as I realized that I hadn't eaten in a couple of days. I discarded the feeling of emptiness until I could find the owners of the food and clothes.

Unfortunately, I was still wearing the same clothes from the safe pack that I had received a year ago. You could barely tell it was the beastie boys anymore and the black jeans were caked in the uncomfortable orange sand. After looking past the piles of what I assumed dirty clothes, I rested my eyes on a stack of neatly folded clothes on the counter. I quickly snooped through them looking for something that could reasonably fit my short frame. Thankfully there was a band shirt that was only one or two sizes to big and I had even listened to them. A pair of unusually small skinny jeans were mixed into the group so I took the fortune granted to me.

Not know when someone might walk out I securely fastened the articles between my arm and side and quickly slipped out the door again to change, constantly looking over my shoulder in paranoia.

After I swapped out my old torn and holy clothes for the semi-new semi-used Iron Maiden tee and black skinny jeans, I reentered the dinner. The sun was starting to rise, spewing a little of its purple and orange glow through the dusty windows. I couldn't ignore my rumbling belly anymore so I started to open the lower cabinets under the counter in hopes of finding something reasonably edible and maybe, just maybe some coffee.

I looked for about five minutes before I found a container reading 'Coffee'. My face lit up like little kids did after received a new comic or a Pokémon card they had never gotten but had always wanted.

But just as I started to unscrew the lid, a swift metallic object knocked me across the back of the skull. I lean against the counter looking around for the coffee can that had flew out if my hands. When I saw it was knocked out of plain sight, a bubble of anger starts to churn inside me. Slowly I stood to face my attacker. To my surprise it was a kid bout my age. He was about three inches taller than me, meaning he was considered short by society. His face was interesting. His surprised expression mirrored mine. It suddenly turned stern, like a game face and he griped the skillet that he thrusted against my noggin for a better hold. He was trying to look intimidating but it seemed misplaced on such a sweet face making him look even more adorable. His stance spoke of a fight and I was willing to oblige. A playful smile spread across my lips as my eyes narrowed. This was gonna be fun.

Thanks you for reading and I promise I'll bring in all the killjoys in the next chapter and not just a little description of how adorably attractive Frankie is^-^ O poor kid:)...everyone always points out his height^_^